


Amazing Traditions

by ThatOneNerdGirl



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon Disabled Character, Everyone Needs A Hug, Funerals, Kid Fic, Memories and Bonding, Multi, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Relationship(s), Phil's dead, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Sorry Phil, Tony Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 00:24:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10730373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneNerdGirl/pseuds/ThatOneNerdGirl
Summary: "In a cold world, you need your friends to keep you warm." ~The Big Chill (1983)The death of one of their own calls six estranged friends back to their hometown, each bringing with them their own set of baggage. Add a few children, a few familial bumps, and three weeks back home into the mix, and you'd expect a mess. But what if it was just what each one of them needs?





	Amazing Traditions

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually a heavily detailed dream in the beginning, and then was heavily inspired by The Big Chill. I wanted to write something out there. I wanted to switch it up... Unbeta'd, and I own nothing. I hope you enjoy.

Tony stared down at the card on the counter, running a hand over his mouth and down his chin. Four small words stared up at him, written neatly under the scrawled date.

_'He'd want you there.'_ Obviously that part wasn't written by the person who wrote the rest of the card, the handwriting didn't match up.

The card, written with quick sharp pen strokes, while those four little words, were scrawled in a dainty cursive, each letter flowing neatly into the next. Natasha knew him too well. Or at least she knew him enough to know he'd try to get out of this.

Funerals weren't exactly his scene, too many bad memories, too much emotion, all for someone who couldn't even appreciate all the hard work their loved ones put into the event. There were tears, there were laughs, and then there was him, trying to smile and joke his way out of any type of emotional confrontation.

It always happened like that. No matter who died.

The soft pad of feet roused him from his thoughts, grabbing the card and stashing it in the kitchen drawer. He'd come back to it later, now he had more important things to accomplish.

Like dressing the naked five-year-old that was currently ambling her way into the kitchen, giggling at the sound of her own feet as she walked out onto the tiled floor.

“Excuse me,” Tony scooped the giggling girl up, “I thought I left you to get dressed, little miss Gwendolyn.”

“Don' wanna,” Gwen pouted, puffing out her bottom lip. Tony chuckled, settling the girl on his hip and walking toward her bedroom.

“You know the rules,” He pushed the door open to her room, the walls painted and decorated with many splatters of pink and teal, “No clothes, no movies.” The girl squealed at that, scrambling to get out of her father's hold and toward her dresser.

Tony watched as the girl rifled through her drawers trying to find her pajamas, catching a spare pair of pants as the flew in his direction.

#######

Tony had completely forgotten about the card, too busy with Gwen's recitals and Pepper getting on his ass about board meetings and case loads and everything else under the sun; there just hadn't been enough time.

That was, until the night came where Gwen was bawling her eyes out, holding up two pieces of her favorite toy, and Tony reached blindly for the tools in the drawer.

His hand caught on the paper, drawing it out and staring at the cover for a minute before remembering his task. He set it on the counter this time, out in plain sight, making sure that he'd revisit it again once this crisis was averted.

Those four words rang through his head again, as he was securing the arm of the doll to the body. _'He'd want you there.'_ Yeah, that's great, but would anybody else? He'd done a pretty bang up job of isolating himself after Howard's death, hiding himself away and deleting all his contacts. Well, not all, but Pepper and Rhodey hardly counted as anything but family at this point.

He hadn't spoken to anyone from back then for years. He doubted he'd even recognize them anymore... They probably wouldn't even recognize _him,_ anymore. It had to have been well over fifteen years since he had seen them, let alone even talked to them.

God he could only imagine what everyone else was up to these days, how their lives had panned out... Tony startled at the sudden pang of sadness that ran through him. And what was that? That deep seated sadness, like something was missing. He didn't _miss_ these people, right?

One of the final things that Howard had drilled into him, as he lay dying on that blue hospital bed, was that there was no time for sadness; that to be sad over something was a waste of precious time, time that could be spent doing much more productive things.

Funny how, years later his mother had told him the exact opposite. That it was okay to be sad, that he needed it, that it wasn't good to hold things inside of himself. In part, that was her warning to not become his father, and look at how he failed her-

Not the time. Now was so not the time for self-reflection. Not when Gwen was watching him expectantly, waiting for her doll. Not when that damn card was sitting on the table centimeters in front of him, glaring and mocking him with it's four little words.

The problem was, there was no phone number, there was no contact information. There was just those mocking words and that looming date, both written in coal black ink, both popping off of the bright white paper inside.

He should go, obviously. He should at least make an effort, make some kind of appearance, right? But then, maybe he shouldn't. He wasn't close with anybody that would be there. But that was a lie wasn't it? He could still name off everyone, and their stupid nicknames. He could still see them all sitting at the picnic table under the maple tree, yelling and laughing.

“Papa?” Gwen questioned, poking lightly at his arm. When he didn't answer right away, she wrapped her small arms around one of his, hugging it with as much strength as her little arms could muster up.

Tony snapped out of his reverie at the sudden pressure on his arm. He smiled lightly, placing a kiss on top of the soft blonde hair, and began wiggling his arm to free it.

“Hey, hey,” He soothed, “I'm okay. It's okay,” Gwen hadn't relented, instead opting to hold on tighter, and Tony sighed, wrapping his other arm around the girl and bringing her into his lap. Small tears began leaking from her eyes as a silent sob shook her frame.

Tony silently picked his daughter up, moving to sit on the couch, cradling her against his chest as he brought up Tangled on the television. He cooed when she whimpered, starting to hum softly, one of the lullabies his mother had sung to her. There he sat, cuddling his daughter, humming and rocking her rhythmically until her breathing evened out, and even then he didn't want to let her go.

######

There was a glass of scotch on the counter, sitting there, next to the card. The ice had nearly completely melted by this point, most of the condensation from the glass had dripped onto the counter top, some of it soaking into the card itself.

The pang was back, a deep hollow, resonating feeling, as though it was bouncing around his chest. The scotch was a bad idea, because now it felt like it was mocking him too, challenging him to do something that he'd regret- Stop.

Tony took a deep breath, grabbing the glass and dumping it's contents down the sink drain. Next, he grabbed his phone, searching through his contacts, thinking maybe, just _maybe_ , he still had some way to contact someone from back-

The small ping alerted him of a new e-mail. The sender was unfamiliar, as was the text within the message itself; a string of ten digits, lined up there on his phone screen, highlighted in blue, ready to be clicked.

Pulling the phone up to his ear, he waited, fidgeting and folding the wet edges of the card in front of him.

“You're late,” The voice on the other end answered, amusement clearly ringing through.

“Yeah, well, had to wait for an e-mail.” Tony answered back, smiling all the same, feeling somehow lighter.

 

 

_The Barton-Coulson Family_

_are sad to announce the passing of_

_Phillip “Phil” Coulson_

_Please join us for the Memorial Services on_

_Sunday 7_ _th_ _of May._

 

 

 

_**He'd want you there** _

 


End file.
